


Damages

by silverr



Series: Roughs [2]
Category: Wild Adapter
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 09:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/620511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once? Five times? It doesn't matter: as soon as the heart is pierced, you stop keeping count. </p><p> Kubota and Tokito, the first four months.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damages

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rroselavy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rroselavy/gifts).



> Wild Adapter is copyrighted intellectual property of Kazuya Minekura, Tokuma Shoten, and Tokyopop, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Wild Adapter or its derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.
> 
> Written to the H/C Bingo Round Three prompt "hiding an illness or injury."

.

.

1

I'd expected to see more when I undressed him. Hidden wounds, track marks on his shoulders, arms, legs ... something. There were scars, of course—all strays had them—and though his were old, years old, pale like the veins in marble, I understood them.

The name bracelet, however, was a small enigma. Kou had told me it was a quality piece, solid sterling rather than vermeil silverplate, which made it the sort of decoration a pampered pet might wear—except that it was scratched and battered, with a rusty twist of wire replacing the missing section of the broken chain. I was as certain that pampered pets did not have to endure rusty wire as I was that stray cats did not value sterling. They valued safe places to sleep, scraps of food, sometimes even something warm to rub against. So the question was: was the man on my bed a stray or not?

Of course, these questions came later and had little to do with why I had taken him home that day. It was not because of a bracelet, or to have something to touch: it was because I had seen the hand, and was curious to see if, once again, I'd pick the one that didn't explode.

  


2

The bones in my arm made a sound like snapping a bundle of dry noodles, but at least no one got hurt.

  


3

Your head got hit in the fight, didn't it? he asks as I sit on the couch with the first aid box. I see his ungloved hand reaching out, as if he's forgotten that he told me not to touch him.

No matter. I won't let him break his promise. I can do it myself, I tell him.

It's troublesome, cleaning the blood from the back of my head—my arm has re-broken, I think—but the neighbor child has gone home.

Tokito looks shocked, as if struggling to take in some concept too vast for human comprehension, but a moment later he snatches the first aid box.

I wait.

When the box clatters to the floor I turn to see that he has crumpled, holding his beast hand, rocking in pain. He tells me it's nothing, that he'll be fine, and I force myself to be still.

  


4

He's looking through the file Kasai has left, the photos of the beast corpses, anonymous cheap rooms splattered with blood and shredded meat.

He tells me, I don't want to turn my eyes away from myself, even at the end.

I'm not going to watch it, I tell him. I don't want to see your end.

So it's that bad? Being with me?

No, I mean that if you stay with me you'll end up badly.

_If I touch you, I'll surely leave wounds._

Why was I ever happy that I met you? he asks as he leaves.

I was sure I had something in my hand that could confirm my existence, so I wanted to try touching it—but I was afraid. I thought I was afraid because I didn't know what to do next, that if I kept it I would hurt it, but really the thing I was most afraid of was letting go.

  


5

The alley where I found the cat is narrow and empty, dark and cold. I do not want to die here, but this must be where I belong.

Why are you here, he asks.

Tell me that you see me, he demands.

He holds out his hand. Tell me that you need me.

Somehow, I do.

.

.

_~ The End ~_

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.

A thank you to my beta, **Whymzycal**. ~ I touched this last, though, so all errors are mine.

Written to the H/C Bingo prompt "hiding an illness or injury." Each section is a paraphrase of a chapter from volume 5: 26, 29, 32, 33 (and 33 again, because it's so wonderful). I fudged the bracelet details, as I can't believe that a bracelet that fit a five year old can be worn without alteration by a twenty year old.

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rev 2 Jan 2013

  



End file.
